


tell me what this is (please tell me I can keep it)

by sobsicles



Category: Leverage
Genre: But its overall very soft, Canon-Typical levels of Violence, Confusion, Eliot Spencer is hopelessly in love folks, Eliot cooks a lot, Kinda like Them, Love Languages, Multi, POV Eliot Spencer, Parker and Hardison are The Best, Protective Eliot Spencer, Set after The Long Goodbye Job, Sophie and Nate show up to put their two cents in, They all should just talk about their feelings, This is Eliots POV so its a little heavy, micommunication
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-01
Updated: 2019-12-01
Packaged: 2021-02-25 23:00:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,178
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21633298
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sobsicles/pseuds/sobsicles
Summary: He follows them, and fights for them, and he doesn't regret one moment. They hold hands, alive and connected, and he cherishes the very sight. Parker touches him more and more, and he doesn't think about all the ways he could break her fingers. Hardison talks shit to him and smiles so brightly, and Eliot doesn't imagine all the various scenarios in which he could permanently shut him up.And, for a long time, he thinks he's accidentally stole them for himself. Thinks about Nate saying, "Let's go steal Eliot some happiness," and how Parker and Hardison would have been the targets.He realizes, after some time, that if that is the case, they wouldn't mind in the least.
Relationships: Alec Hardison/Parker/Eliot Spencer
Comments: 125
Kudos: 543





	tell me what this is (please tell me I can keep it)

Eliot doesn't think about retirement. For him, retiring isn't just hanging his hat up, it's being lowered six feet beneath the dirt--if he's lucky enough to get put to rest that way. 

But, sometimes, he dreams of it. 

As in control as he is, or as he convinces himself he is, there isn't much he can do about the dreams. In them, he holds a knife with hands that bear scars and raised veins beneath papery skin, visibly weakened and warped. But he never uses the knife for anything besides cutting vegetables, a practiced motion that betrays experience. In these dreams, the flash of hair he catches in the circular reflection of the hanging pot to his left is gray. He's old, he's cooking, and he aches from age rather than a fight. 

Most shocking, he's alive. 

When Parker and Hardison enter this recurring dream, calling out to him from some point beyond the kitchen--because of course they're there,  _ of course  _ they are--he knows that he'll retire with them in his mind. His final exhale will be their names falling from his lips, a soft declaration that perfectly sums up the purpose of his life. 

It's almost frightening how quickly they enter his dreams. But what's more terrifying is how they refuse to leave, and worse yet, how he doesn't evict them. 

* * *

Eliot thinks they know. Deep down somewhere, they must know. Even if they haven't acknowledged it. 

It's not like he's very good at hiding it. In another world, maybe, but this one? No, he doesn't really have many chances to keep it hidden; his entire job is centered around it. Every situation that cracks his chassis of nonchalance, that strips away any control he dares to claim over himself, every single one is as glaring as the sun--bright and unmistakable. 

There are moments that he's certain they have to have some idea at least. Hardison sits on a bomb, and Eliot's hands shake as the timer ticks down. He can barely breathe when Hardison walks away with not a scratch on him. Parker cries, and Eliot tells her he can kill someone for her. He will, is the thing; he will kill for her  _ gladly,  _ in all the ways he has for others, but he'll enjoy it this time. 

But they never seem to notice, never seem to pick up on it, never seem to  _ realize.  _

Nate knows. He has possibly always known, probably clocked it from Eliot's first dream. Hell, he might've seen the possibility from the very first job. He's lightly curious in the way someone would be about a very loyal dog, appraising and intrigued. Eliot would like to say that it pisses him off that he's so transparent, but it's  _ Nate,  _ and besides...he's never been ashamed of it. 

Sophie, for all her  _ reading people  _ talents, doesn't really catch on at first. She happens to pick up on it when they're not on a case, so her acting is abysmal, and Eliot gets to watch her surprise in live action. It's equal parts amusing and embarrassing. All it takes is a meal, one he cooks for Parker and Hardison, and she's instantly reading the right signs. 

Nate, of course, smiles at her in that vaguely creepy mastermind way that says  _ I've known this all along, good of you to catch up.  _

While Hardison and Parker go on and on about how good his food is, Eliot just tips his head and offers the wide-eyed Sophie a half smile. 

He doesn't know what else to do. 

* * *

Eliot is always in control. Except when he's not. Which, as it stands, increases the longer that he spends with Parker and Hardison. 

It's his control being snatched from him, one little slip at a time, but the thrilling part is when he relinquishes his grip one sliver at a time. The first time Hardison kisses Parker in front of him, he loses a grandiose amount of the leash he keeps himself tethered to. Just that one contact, and Eliot's hands spasm as the leash slides through his hands so rapidly that his hands itch from phantom burns for the following three days. 

It's the mere sight of them being connected in such a way, a bond cradled so tenderly over the years, and Eliot has to adjust to having yet another thing he needs to protect. It's so  _ careful,  _ so much so that Eliot reflexively flinches away. Being in proximity of such a cherished act is like inviting poison into the room. 

Eliot has never cradled  _ anything.  _

They do it more and more over time, growing comfortable with themselves, becoming at ease with showing their love on display. It's quite possibly the most tempting piece of art he's ever witnessed; the simplicity in the way they fall in love, so slowly, yet as if it's been rippling gently beneath the surface the entire time. The thief in Eliot, the worst parts of himself, wants to steal it for himself. 

It would be his most prized possession. 

* * *

Eliot remembers the startling realization that he couldn't continue on without them. Long before they ever kissed, back when Hardison found himself trapped in a shallow grave, Eliot comes to terms with what his entire existence is meant for. 

He'd known before then, of course. But he hadn't ever had it tested so harrowingly before the moment that he helped yank Hardison from the casket that held him captive. His control had been nonexistent. Incapable of being gentle, he'd smashed himself and Hardison together as close as possible and  _ clung,  _ unwilling to let him go. As Hardison had leaned into him, vowing never to do it again--and thank god for that--Eliot had realized that if he'd uncovered a corpse, he'd have crawled right next to it and  _ retired.  _

That had been the moment when clarity hit, even if it had been true for much longer. He  _ can't  _ lose them. Not him, not her. For as long as he breathes, they have to as well. 

And if they're not...neither is he. 

* * *

There are defining moments in Eliot's life that shapes him into who he is. 

The first time breaks his arm at the tender age of six. His mother holds him close on the way to the hospital and wipes away his tears. His father tells him to shake it off, to be a man about it. It heals over time, and anyway, Eliot can still climb the very tree he fell out of, so he isn't too upset about it. 

The first time he kisses a girl. He's eleven and it happens on the school playground. He's terrified the entire time, but she smiles at him afterwards, and he thinks he manages a smile back. His friends pick on him for his crush, and when she moves away a week later, he cries into his pillow. 

The first time he plays football. The coach takes one look at him and decides he's a perfect fit to be the target of all of the opposing team's aggression. His dad buys him cleats and claps him on the shoulder in pride, while his brother watches on in mild jealousy. To be fair, that's a rare occurrence. 

The first time he decides to enlist. It also happens to be the very same day that he leaves, because he's always known that he  _ wants  _ to go, but he doesn't think he'll actually do it until he's packing his things and hitting the road. His brother watches him go silently; his dad yells at him the whole way out the door. Eliot doesn't even look back. 

As far as defining moments go, Damien Moreau is undoubtedly a major phenomenon. From every request, to every carried out mission, Eliot finds each step leading him away from the man he believed himself to be. But he keeps on going, moving when Moreau asks him to, never halting...until, quite abruptly, he can't take one more step. When he looks back, he doesn't even know who it was that he left behind, and he has no desire to find out. 

And all of it,  _ all of it,  _ shapes him into the man he turns out to be when he first meets the team. Quiet, calculating, untrusting. He's good at what he does and he knows it; he's only here for a paycheck. He looks into the faces of the people he's supposed to be protecting, supposed to be working  _ with,  _ and for the most part, he doesn't really care. 

But...there is a hint of curiosity, and some emotion he can't put a name to flickers to life, like cogs cranking up after years of disuse, dust flying. 

Later, he recognizes it as yearning. 

The most defining moment, however, is the one that erases every staple of who he believes himself to be. He's been built into this person, but it comes tumbling down without much fanfare. There isn't one moment that brings him to ruin; it's a collaborative effort of snapshots of his life after he takes his place on the team. 

Everything that he  _ is  _ no longer matters, and he's broken down into this man who's lost himself over and over without ever noticing. He just looks up one day and he has no idea who he is. 

But this time, he finds himself. With the rubble of what he was, he rebuilds anew, painstakingly creating a shrine to the very things that destroyed him. He is still a broken man, bruised and scarred, but now...it's for  _ them.  _

Nothing else matters. 

* * *

Eliot settles into it, as one does when they have no other options. This is who he is, what he does, and it isn't going to go away. He doesn't really want it to. 

So, he smiles as he follows behind Parker and Hardison, face softening in a way he used to think he could never manage. A man who has done the things he has, seen the things he's seen, shouldn't be able to soften for anything, for  _ anyone.  _ But they're special like that, invoking the impossible. And for that, for  _ them,  _ he'd do the impossible. 

He follows them, and fights for them, and he doesn't regret one moment. They hold hands, alive and connected, and he cherishes the very sight. Parker touches him more and more, and he doesn't think about all the ways he could break her fingers. Hardison talks shit to him and smiles so brightly, and Eliot doesn't imagine all the various scenarios in which he could permanently shut him up. 

And, for a long time, he thinks he's accidentally stole them for himself. Thinks about Nate saying,  _ "Let's go steal Eliot some happiness,"  _ and how Parker and Hardison would have been the targets. 

He realizes, after some time, that  _ if  _ that is the case, they wouldn't mind in the least. 

* * *

Things change when Nate and Sophie leave. 

He's always expected them to. Usually for the worst. The idea of Parker and Hardison leaving on their own is one almost too much to stomach--for many different reasons. An option even more upsetting is that they won't leave at all, that they'll ask  _ him  _ to. And he would, he always would, if they'd ask. 

A part of him will always expect them to. 

But they don't. 

He doesn't know why it surprises him. They have been sending him signals to  _ stay  _ for as long as he's thought to look for them. Sometimes, Parker asks him to cook for her, well aware that he has things he wants to say without using words. Hardison sometimes talks to him for hours without expecting a response, somehow always knowing when Eliot can't talk but doesn't want silence. 

Parker spars with him, even when she's good enough that she doesn't really need his guidance anymore. They sync up, bodies flowing like they share limbs. It's smooth and intimate, but not sexual, and Eliot always walks away feeling like he's just got a glimpse into what it would be like if Parker loved him. 

Hardison buys him a brewpub, even if he acts like he hasn't. They bicker over the menu, fussing over miniscule things to the detail, right down to the font on the logo. It's safe and enticing, but not flirting, and Eliot always walks away with the sense that he knows what their relationship would've been like if they'd ever had one.

But then...Nate and Sophie leave. 

Eliot says, "Til my dyin' day," and he means that. There isn't anything in this world that could keep him from protecting Parker and Hardison, nothing short of death. That's just the facts. 

Eliot says, "Yeah, I did. And because of you, I don't need to search anymore," and he's genuinely grateful to Nate for that. Because of him, Eliot found them, and in turn, he found himself. That's just honesty. 

Apparently, it's a bit more than that. 

He had considered it there for a moment, admittedly. When the three of them had saved the world, when Parker had said, "We change together," and when they'd walked away from another job well done so intertwined that Eliot's injuries had barely hurt at all. It had passed his mind briefly, just the  _ idea  _ that they might've wanted him, but he'd shoved that thought firmly away under lock and key. 

It is, of course, broken open by none other than Parker, who's particular skill set is just one big ode to thievery. Eliot doesn't really stand a chance. 

* * *

It goes like this: 

Parker is about to head out of the van and scale a very tall building with nothing but her faith in her abilities and her very verified gear. Eliot's been on edge since this entire con began, but seeing as this is the first without Nate and Sophie, he figures he's allowed to be a little wary. His concern translates into paranoia; checking for possible enemies, running escape routes in his head, being constantly prepared to do what he has to do to keep them safe. 

Hardison and Parker are things he doesn't really have to put energy in being paranoid about. Hardison is just in the passenger seat next to him; Parker is just leaning forward from the back seat. They're talking, joking about something, and Eliot isn't really listening. It's day four of the con, and they have a ways to go, and he's not getting comfortable. 

Parker leans forward to kiss Hardison lightly before she goes, a thing she does pretty regularly now, as long as they remember it's not for luck. Eliot's only distantly aware of the sound of their kiss, a soft and wet glide of mouths--and really, that's not his business anyway. He clocks at least four more people on the street with a military background. 

"Eliot," Parker says. 

And Eliot hums distractedly, turning towards her without really paying attention. Then, there's a mouth being pressed against his, and he faintly registers that Parker has kissed him. She smacks both his and Hardison's shoulder before ducking out the van with a little whoop. Eliot turns his head back and tries to map out what possible interceptions she might get on the way to where she's going. 

Hardison clears his throat. 

And then, the realization hits. Eliot goes so stiff that he feels made of stone, like that time he was tortured with concrete mix; it firms up, gets heavy, and it feels like being pinned down and suffocated all at once. His hands clench so tight on the wheel that it creaks audibly beneath his palms. He is not breathing. 

Parker has just kissed him. No warning, no permission, no  _ anything.  _ And she'd done it right after kissing her boyfriend, who'd sat by without reacting while Eliot let her kiss him too. Hell, he'd barely  _ realized  _ it was happening. It had felt worryingly enough like something entirely normal. 

"Damn that woman," Hardison says with a deep sigh, one hand coming down to smack the armrest. "She would pull something like that and leave me to handle the aftermath. Eliot, man--" 

"Try to miss the eyes, please, if you can. And don't tuck your thumb in," Eliot interrupts firmly, turning his face to Hardison and waiting patiently. 

For a brief moment, Hardison looks confused, like Eliot's talking in an entirely different language. But once he gets it, his mouth drops open. "You think-- Eliot, I'm not gonna  _ hit  _ you!" 

"You can." Eliot holds firm. "I won't hit you back." 

"Why would I hit you? I mean, I know I joke and shit, but I don't  _ actually  _ want to--" 

"Are you blind, Hardison. I just-- Parker and I kissed. That's-- You can hit me for it." 

Hardison stares at him like he's from an entirely different planet. "Dude, Parker kissed  _ you."  _

"She probably didn't mean to," Eliot says quickly, doing his best to defend her. "Just--just some confusion, or, I dunno, some kind of mistake." 

"Oh no, she meant to. Parker doesn't really do things that she doesn't want to do," Hardison tells him. 

Eliot releases a soft sigh. "Fine. Then--then that's between you two. Right now, you get a hit." 

"I don't want to hit you. God, we have  _ got  _ to work on what you think are appropriate responses to--" 

"Okay, so what  _ do  _ you want?" 

Hardison's previous sentence goes unnoticed as he seems to register Eliot's question. He stares for a moment, then his eyes light up with some spark that Eliot's only ever seen when Hardison has come face to face with a system that's going to be a challenge to crack. Eliot doesn't let his wariness show, just settles in and prepares to do whatever Hardison wants him to. Normally, he wouldn't be so open to that, but the predicament calls for  _ some  _ kind of penance. 

That's just the way the world works. Hardison's the one who's aggrieved; he's the one who gets to decide what it'll take for Eliot to make it up. As dismaying as that is, Eliot's sticking to his guns on this one. 

Then, Hardison says, "You think I'm jealous. And you know what, you're right. I  _ am."  _ At this, Eliot's heart clenches, but Hardison starts grinning. "Maybe I want a kiss too, Eliot, you ever think of that? What about me, huh? Why's Parker get all--"

"Dammit, Hardison!" Eliot points at him in vague threat. "I'm  _ serious."  _

"Yeah, so am I." With the air of a man who doesn't back down from challenges, Hardison leans forward and bats his eyes. "So, you gonna kiss me or not?" 

This is quite possibly the last thing he wants to do. It's bad enough that he already knows the feeling of Parker's lips against his. And a horrible part of him hates that he hadn't been paying attention enough to fully catalogue that feeling. Adding Hardison into the mix is just a mess waiting to happen, a mess for Eliot's heart specifically. 

But, then again, he's been letting them make a mess of him and everything he's stood for by a long shot for the last few years. 

Hardison must see that he's considering it because the playfulness in his expression melts away. It's still light though, not turning to disgust or revulsion, and he doesn't pull away. He simply looks at Eliot seriously, waiting. It's not even a challenge anymore. 

Eliot doesn't know why he does it, except he very well  _ does.  _ But with carefully telegraphed movements, he leans to the side, keeping his torso pointed forward, and he kisses Hardison. It's as quick and simple as it had been with Parker, and it's over before Eliot can do something stupid. When he pulls away, Hardison just blinks, then smiles. 

Eliot turns to face forward, eyes fixated on the flow of people on the street. He keeps his expression blank and tries to erase the kisses from his memory. He doesn't need them; they won't be repeated. 

* * *

The con goes smoothly, with even less hiccups than usual under Nate's guidance. Eliot won't say it, but he's beginning to think that Parker is better than him at his own job; maybe it's because she's not drunk the majority of the time. 

It's a relief to be back at the brewpub. Hardison scurries upstairs to lose himself in his screens and keyboards. Parker disappears to do whatever suits her fancy at the moment. But Eliot heads into the kitchen, hiding an amused smile at the various workers that snap straight to work as he enters.

Eliot has been given many things over the years; orders, targets, bodies. The brewpub, however, is somewhere around third on his list of his most adored possessions--third only to Parker and Hardison. It's a home away from home away from home, a place that greets him with the faint sounds of clinking dishes, scuffing shoes, and sizzling pans. He never fully relaxes, never will, but the closest he gets is usually in this kitchen. 

Technically, he doesn't have to work here. He doesn't even really own the place, even if you'd have to be a fool to think that wasn't Hardison's intentions. Eliot genuinely has no control over this place, yet somehow it's the one place he feels in the most control. It's  _ his  _ food that's filling the place with an enticing aroma,  _ his  _ recipes that have to be followed,  _ his  _ themes that bring the entire menu together. He has left his signature on everything from the food to the drinks, and Hardison has simply added in his own input to keep Eliot comfortable with his gift. 

Eliot appreciates that. 

He washes his hands and grabs an apron, tucking his shorter hair underneath a chef skull cap--he vaguely misses his longer hair, misses that he could just tie it back from his face. Then, he starts on the prep that needs to be handled, helping out where he can. He never knows when he needs to leave for a job, which can last weeks--depending on the con--and his help comes in spurts, just a few pans of vegetables or meat that the staff won't have to worry about. 

He'll make something to take up to Hardison and Parker at some point, but he focuses on the calming task of slicing green peppers. 

It's methodical and calming; a swipe at the top, a swipe at the bottom, gutting the inside, slice the ring into three sections, then chop those into tinier boxes. Over and over, consistent motion, getting into a flow. He moves through one pan, then another, and then the box is empty. He blinks and looks up. 

There goes an hour and a half. 

He doesn't stop thinking, per se, but he  _ does  _ stop worrying so much. It's almost zoning out, though not quite. He's still aware of everything, aware of all possible dangers, aware of what he needs to do next, but there's a distinct lack of stress in his mind. He has one task--cooking--and, for this moment, he isn't capable of making any mistakes. 

There are green onions just waiting to be chopped. He grabs the box up before another cook can, inwardly snorting as the girl quickly whirls around and finds another task to focus on. He gets another cutting board, washes his hand, washes his knife, and he begins again. 

Eventually, Eliot wants to actually  _ cook  _ something, so he stops making prep. He looks around the pantry and coolers, mulling over what to make for Parker and Hardison to eat. If he doesn't feed them, Hardison will try to live off orange soda and those horrible gummies that he claims to be good, while Parker will lose herself in a poptart box and claim not to have left all the crumbs on the counters. Honestly, he feeds them for peace of mind at this point. And, well, because he likes it--taking care of them is as rewarding as protecting them. 

Food is his art, his feelings, and they say more things than his mouth ever has. He has no idea the amount of times Hardison and Parker have eaten  _ I need you both  _ with moans of appreciation. Today, they get steak & stilton bruschetta, a quick and simple lunch with a nice flavor. 

He carries the plates up the stairs casually, nodding to the various people he passes, and he enters the room with his ears pricked. It's quiet outside of the sound of Hardison clicking away on his computer and Parker's clothes rustling in the distinct way they do when she's doing her stretches to stay limber. He heads into the kitchen without saying anything, well aware by now that they'll smell the food and soon come descending upon it with anticipation and excitement in their eyes. 

Sure enough, he's barely got the proper silverware out for them before they come in. Parker comes in first--she always does--because she can smell food in the immediate vicinity the same way Eliot can scent out gunpowder. Hardison isn't too far behind, his senses nothing to snub your nose at. 

"What is it?" Parker asks, coming around the counter to lever herself up in the way she knows Eliot gets annoyed by, her feet swinging. 

Hardison hazards a guess. "Looks like steak." 

"Steak & stilton bruschetta," Eliot says, pushing the plate closer to them. "Enjoy. I've got a little more prep to do, but I'll be back." 

Eliot starts to step back as Hardison comes around the counter to look down at the dish in interest. Parker scoots forward and catches Eliot's arm, holding him in place as she takes her first bite. Her eyes flutter in pleasure and she smiles, a soft thing that Eliot feels his heart strain towards. He stands utterly still, frozen beneath her fingers, waiting as Hardison moans around his bite. 

"That's really good, man," Hardison says, throwing him a bright smile. 

Parker leans forward and says, "Thank you," before contorting her body in a way that would be worrying on anyone else. Before Elliot has time to think, she kisses him full on the mouth. 

This kiss lasts only a bit longer than their first, but it's no simple peck, and Eliot's  _ very  _ aware of it. He can taste his own cooking off her lips; it's savory and has the faintest tang of adoration. She pulls away with a happy noise and goes right back to eating like she hasn't done anything out of the ordinary. 

Eliot blinks open his eyes, not entirely sure when he'd shut them, and he immediately looks over at Hardison. He expects  _ something,  _ anything really, but Hardison is just swallowing after yet another bite, because he'd apparently kept on eating while his girlfriend kissed another man. 

Eliot really wants to leave, but he's frozen in place. He doesn't know what to say, doesn't even know what he's thinking about. He just stares at Hardison and waits, feeling slightly off-balance. 

Hardison puts one hand on the counter and lays his other over Parker's hand that's still draped over Eliot's arm. Without warning, he dips forward and down to smack one on Eliot too. It's like his and Parker's in length and depth, but that's where the similarities stop. Hardison's lips are different from Parker's, fuller and softer, and when they move, it's like they're trying to draw Eliot in. 

Then, just like that, Hardison pulls away and goes back to eating like nothing is amiss. Both of their hands drop in sync, and Eliot just...leaves. He turns and walks away without a word, heading back down to the kitchen to do more prep. 

It takes him a long time to realize that he doesn't feel off-balance anymore. 

* * *

One time is an anomaly, an outlier, a coincidence. More than that is repetition, a pattern. 

Eliot might have brushed off the first time, even if his heart and mind had fixated on it--he's good at ignoring those particular organs. The second time is pushing it, because he can only ignore those organs if they don't have power. The third, however, is just unfair. He can't really ignore it after that because he now has no proof that it will  _ stop,  _ meaning his heart and mind have something to throw at him--like  _ see, this is a thing, you can't deny it!  _

Hardison kisses him when he wins a first-person shooting game. Laughing, he jokes, "You got me in real life, but virtual reality is  _ mine."  _ And then, he knocks his shoulder into Eliot's, leans over, kisses him hard and fast, full of victory. 

Eliot doesn't win the next round, nor the next, nor any after that, but he keeps on playing. 

Parker kisses him shortly after that when he helps her unkink some of her climbing gear. She loops the thick rope around her shoulders and says, "I wish you'd jump off buildings with me." And then, she darts forward and kisses him soft and slow, pulling away a moment later, going right back to her rope. 

Eliot helps her set up her gear, even though he never usually does, and he listens when she tells him the proper way to hop off skyscrapers. 

He has no idea what's happening, or why. His heart demands he ask; his mind cautions him against it. He just does his best to not think about it. 

His best is kind of sad, actually. 

* * *

They don't stop, and Eliot doesn't ask questions, and this somehow becomes the new normal. They go on cons, they run the brewpub, and they kiss. 

Then, Parker and Hardison do something different. 

It's not that they've never gone places with him. Even outside of a job. They all go out and try new places to eat, or they visit their favorites, or they go do things as a little group just for some fun--Hardison likes arcades, Parker enjoys inside skydiving, and Eliot's taken them fishing a couple of times. 

This is...different. Eliot can't really pinpoint  _ why.  _ Maybe it's how they invite him, how they both wait until he brings them lunch to  _ ask.  _ They don't usually ask; they normally just say, "Hey, we're doing this," or, "Hey, let's go and do this," and that's that. 

This time, Parker says, "We want to go out." 

Hardison adds, "Can we take you?" 

Eliot, not thinking, replies, "Yeah." 

He doesn't realize that things are different until he meets them at the door to the brewpub and Hardison holds the door for both him and Parker as they head out. He brushes off the initial suspicion, though he knows better than to ignore a gut-feeling. He's rarely wrong about those. 

Hardison drives them to the movies, and Eliot is faintly surprised, though he refrains from showing it. Parker buys the tickets, Hardison pays for the snacks, and Eliot is fully suspicious by the time they go into the theatre. His need to be uncertain is confirmed when they box him in between them in the row of seats, Parker on his left while Hardison claims his right. They just get comfortable, like it makes complete sense that they're not sitting together, even though they're the  _ couple.  _

Parker hogs the popcorn, Hardison munches on his sour patch kids far too loud, and Eliot has no fucking clue what movie they're even watching. 

There's no inappropriate touching and he's oddly relieved by that. The movies isn't his optimal place to be. He's far from normal and not comforted by being essentially stuck in a box with only two exits. Thankfully, the theatre isn't packed with people, so his paranoia isn't as bad as it  _ could  _ be. They must notice how tense he is for the entirety of the two hours and forty-two minutes that they're in there, but they don't judge him for it. 

Then, it's over, and they're leaving. He breathes a little easier when they step out into the evening air, escape routes tripping by the seconds. 

He expects for them to take him back to his car so he can head home, but they don't. Parker gives Hardison directions and leads them to a restaurant they've never been to before. Despite himself, Eliot's interest is piqued as they head inside. It's upscale, and they all stick out like sore thumbs in their casual clothes, but Parker and Hardison don't seem to care. 

It seems like the kind of place that have reservations, but Hardison just passes over a wad of money, and they're ushered to a table with cloth napkins and flutes of glasses awaiting wine. Eliot doesn't really enjoy uppity places like this, not aligned to the ambiance or the people who feel at home in it. 

_ But  _ Hardison and Parker spend the first two minutes of the experience making the waiter uncomfortable with questions like, "Yo, what y'all gonna do if that chandelier falls in my food?" and "Did you know that woman is giving that man a handjob under the table? And no, he's  _ not  _ her husband." 

It's all Eliot can do not to grin outright at the discomfort of the neighboring tables.

What makes up for _everything_ is the food. Even he can't deny that the options are, quite frankly, some of the best he's seen. His mouth waters as he goes over the menu, eyes scanning the words eagerly, enthralled by the sheer amount of _quality_ that's staring right back. Hell, they have imported _cheese._

When the waiter comes to get their order, Parker hands him two menus and says, "He'll order for us. He knows what we like." 

Before Eliot can stomp it out, there's a rising rush of warmth at those words. There's just something so  _ intimate  _ about that, something he has no idea what to do with. They watch him expectantly, so he gruffly orders them all exactly what they'll enjoy the most, and he very firmly doesn't feel a rush of affection and pride at their matching smiles. 

The food is really _ , really _ good. 

Parker picks the dessert because she wants it to be a surprise for him and Hardison. Eliot gets to watch in amusement as she hops up and whispers the order into the waiter's ear, who blushes at her proximity and quickly bolts as soon as she sits back down. Before he knows what he's doing, Eliot shares a fond look with Hardison, forgetting for a moment why he should definitely  _ not  _ be doing that. 

And so it goes. They eat and talk, and Eliot almost doesn't feel the various stares of judgement pinging from all around him. And he'll never admit it, but he enjoys himself more than he'd expected. 

Then, it's over, just like that. Hardison snatches the check before Eliot can even open his mouth, and Parker smacks down a tip with a too-sweet smile before Eliot can even reach for his wallet. The earlier suspicion that had gone dormant rears up all over again, and he narrows his eyes at them. They ignore it and distract him with questions about the food, about whether he can replicate it, if he can work anything similar on the menu at the brewpub. 

When they get back, it's pretty late. Eliot  _ knows  _ he should leave, just get in his car and go home to his nondescript apartment to sleep until he can come back. But Hardison needles him into staying, and Parker threatens to slash his tires if he says no, and besides, he doesn't really want to go anyway. He makes a compromise, says he'll come up and stay until they go to bed, and they accept that. 

Of course, he doesn't really foresee that they'll fall asleep last. To be fair, Eliot does his best to stay awake, but he hasn't slept in the past two days and he needs  _ at least  _ five hours to keep from snapping at them. Plus, they sandwich him on either side on the couch while Parker's favorite Christmas movie plays--even though it's only June--and he doesn't realize he's dozing until it's too late. 

He  _ thinks  _ that Hardison drapes a blanket over him while Parker kisses him on his forehead, but he's not awake enough to be sure. It could be a dream. 

When he wakes up, he makes them breakfast. 

* * *

He knows things have changed--and isn't thinking about it--but he still hasn't worked out  _ how _ or  _ why.  _

He mostly just pretends like nothing is happening. He gets kissed in random intervals, never knowing when it's coming, never stopping it. They all go out and often frequent that same restaurant, and he never pays. Sometimes, new things happen. 

Once, during a sparring match, Parker drags him down to the mat and drapes herself all over him, careless to the sweat clinging to their bodies. She says nothing, just cuddles up to him, and their breathing syncs as they lay there. She drags his hand to her hair, so he lightly smooths his fingers over the sweaty clumps while she makes happy noises. 

Eliot actively doesn't think about it. 

Once, during a bickering match over a beer he wants to add, Hardison reaches out and catches Eliot's hand. He doesn't falter in his teasing, not even when he threads their fingers together, and they hold on loosely. He swings their connected hands, so Eliot readjusts his grip so they don't break apart while Hardison lightly squeezes his hand. 

Eliot actively doesn't think about it. 

And that's just fine. He can handle this. He can do this forever, actually. As far as hardships go, this is possibly the easiest one he's ever experienced. He has many,  _ many  _ questions; things he wants to say, words that clog his throat, demands than shout in his mind on a vicious loop. He doesn't sleep that much, not that he did to begin with, but even that doesn't take away from the impact they have on him. 

If this is all he gets, he will take it. He's past the point of panicking and had landed somewhere in the vastness of polite ignorance. No longer denying how deep he's in, no longer caring how obvious he might be, he just lets it unfold. 

The scariest part is how natural it feels. 

But he  _ never  _ crosses a line he's drawn. He won't seek out the things they give him; he never goes for a kiss, never searches out contact, never finds a place to take them. He craves it, of course, but he won't allow himself that. As vulnerable as it is to admit it to himself, he knows that he's too much of a coward to face the possibility that they'll reject him. For as brave as he is, as strong as he is, he is well aware of how weak they've made him; it would fucking  _ hurt  _ if they pushed away anything he offered. 

He's content to stay this way for however long they're willing to keep doing whatever it is that they're doing. And as content as he is, he's equally restless by it all. 

Still, he's not one to look a gift-horse in the mouth, especially not when that gift-horse has the ability to stomp his heart into the dirt. 

* * *

Nate and Sophie stop by to visit. They show up unannounced, without warning, and Eliot nearly bashes Nate's head into the wall when he walks into his old apartment without preamble. 

"Well, hello to you to, Eliot," Nate says calmly, not at all concerned by the grip Eliot has on his throat. 

Eliot immediately lets him go, wondering when people stopped by scared of him. If he's honest, his team haven't been scared of him for a long time. That fills him with equal amounts of warmth and dismay. 

"Sophie!" Parker screeches, dropping down from the looping staircase to dart forward and hug Sophie so hard that they both nearly topple over. 

Hardison pokes his head into the room, then deigns the new guests worthy of his presence. He approaches them with a bright smile and open arms, wrapping Nate into a hug before he can protest. Then, everyone's being passed around, and it's all very nice--Eliot won't admit that to save his life. 

Turns out, Nate and Sophie were in the area. Hardison instantly debunks that fact by saying they were actually in Canada two days ago, to which Sophie waves a hand and declares that's close enough. Nate is mildly irritated that they're still being kept up with, but only in the way that means he's actually pleased by it. 

Eliot can read between the lines, and he's sure that they all can. Nate and Sophie had missed them. It's strange to think about, stranger still to realize that the feeling is mutual for all of them. 

They don't plan to stay long, just two days, and if there's a con in the works, they will leave after a very quick visit, not willing to get caught up in it. They do have a job they'll be starting the following week, but that's all, and Parker grips Sophie's hands hard, demanding that they stay. 

They do. 

It's good, is the thing. A found family reuniting. It feels  _ happy, _ feels genuine, and Eliot relaxes into it. For all of Nate's issues, Eliot has always liked him, has always had his back. And Sophie is something else entirely, somehow a friend-sister-mom type that Eliot can't help but be comforted by. 

It's late enough in the afternoon that Eliot can cook, so he does. His feelings are bountiful and warm, so he cooks comfort food, and he cooks  _ a lot.  _ It's not just a meal, but an intricate dinner where every bite is designed to fill each of them with the same feeling they get from being together again. 

As he'd hoped, it's a hit. 

"Oh, how I've missed your cooking," Sophie says happily, humming in a pleased fashion as she waves her fork at him. "Either you've been holding out on me, or you've gotten better since we left." 

Eliot winks at her. "Maybe you just forgot how good I was," he tells her playfully. 

Sophie tuts lightly. "No, that's not it. Wouldn't dream of it, honest." 

"This tastes like hugs," Parker says. She blinks and tilts her head slightly, then clarifies, "Good hugs." 

"She ain't lyin'," Hardison agrees through a mouthful, bobbing his head eagerly. 

Nate just nods once, but Eliot knows that's practically an exuberant shout of joy coming from him. He leans his elbow on the table and asks, "So, what's changed since we've been gone?" 

"Manners, Nate," Sophie scolds gently, reaching over to push his elbow off the table. 

Eliot tenses at the question, mind instantly going to the most vibrant change in his life since they left. He works to get himself under control before Sophie turns to survey them, and by god, he hopes he succeeds. Sophie's the best damn grifter there is; she'll notice something is up before anyone. 

"Nothing, really," Hardison muses casually, tapping his fork to his lips. "I mean, we did a couple cons you wouldn't let us do. Uh, not--not as  _ thieves,  _ of course. But you know, it was a nice payout. Still running the brewpub, still working, the usual." 

Parker nods and, with entirely too much calm, says, "Oh, and we're dating Eliot now." 

Eliot chokes on the bite in his mouth, wholly unprepared for those words to exist out in the world. He almost can't get the food dislodged and has to beat on his chest as his eyes prick with tears. Hardison reaches over and pats his back while Parker holds out a glass of water. He takes it and downs it slowly, wary to look up. 

When he does, Sophie just blinks and says, "Oh. Well, that's...nice. Right, Nate?" 

"Uh," Nate says slowly, "sure." 

Eliot coughs once more and mutters, "I--" and that's as far as he gets. 

"And how's that going?" Sophie asks curiously, her eyes flicking between them, her gaze assessing. 

"Can we talk about Eliot's excellent cooking skills again?" Nate asks hopefully. 

Sophie smacks his arm lightly and shushes him. 

"It's fun," Parker replies without an inch of shame, sounding genuinely serious. 

Hardison hums in agreement. "What she said." 

"Eliot?" Sophie prompts, her gaze unwavering on him, heavy like she can see right through him. 

"I…" Eliot tries again. He manages to croak out a very gruff, "Yeah." 

Nate sighs and looks down at his plate forlornly. 

Sophie arches an eyebrow. "Is this...news to you?" 

Hardison and Parker both look at him expectantly, patient as ever, and Eliot's mouth is entirely too dry for this conversation. This isn't where he saw this dinner going, but it's too late to go back now. 

If he's honest with himself, he's always known that's what they were doing. Between the kisses, the dates, the explorative touches...it's not like it hasn't been pretty blatant. He just… Well, he's been trying to convince himself that's not what's going on, a part of him believing that they'd never acknowledge it. He was okay with that, had come to terms with it. He would have just kept right on dealing with them keeping it so low-key that they could all have plausible deniability, no matter how much the thought that they might want to deny it bothered him. But hey, he'd been denying it too, so… 

This, however, is the farthest thing from denial. This is confirmation, and in front of the rest of the family no less. Eliot has no idea what to do with that. 

He clears his throat and just says, "No, not really." 

Sophie beams at them. "Well, that's just lovely." 

It  _ really  _ is, and that makes the back of Eliot's throat burn. He wants to punch something very badly. Instead, he grunts and heads away to bring out the dessert. When he returns, the conversation has moved into safer territory, and that's much better. 

Eliot is torn between wanting Nate and Sophie to leave sooner rather than later so he can find out what the hell is going on and never wanting them to leave so he won't ever have to find out. 

No one seems to notice his indecision. 

* * *

Parker and Hardison are fucking  _ shameless.  _ Regardless of the fact that Nate and Sophie are here, they do what they've been doing. They kiss him like no one's watching, touch him like it's not new, and it's so surreal that Eliot never stops them. 

He's still transparent as ever, apparently, because Nate corners him one morning over pancakes when no one else is awake. 

"You have no idea what you're doing, do you?" Nate asks casually, and they both know he isn't talking about the french toast he's making. 

Eliot doesn't even lie. "Nope." 

"Well," Nate says in a less creepy version of his mastermind voice, tamped down now that he's no longer doing that, "I guess you better figure it out." 

"Working on it," Eliot growls defensively. 

Nate raises both eyebrows in doubt, standing with his glass of orange juice, and cryptically says, "I find that being afraid to rock the boat can sometimes leave you stranded," then leaves before Eliot can reply, because he's apparently still capable of being a creep after all. 

Eliot doesn't like metaphors. 

Nate isn't the last to corner him. Sophie gets him when he least expects it, showing up at his gym in workout gear that she's probably never worn outside of a can. She grabs a jump rope and steps up beside him, skipping in a circle around him with a surprising amount of coordination as he does pull ups. She never looks at him, a tactic she uses when she wants a spooked person to feel comfortable. 

"You love them," she says. 

Eliot grunts and pulls himself up, glaring at her as she skips in front of him. "What do you want, Sophie? I know you're not here to  _ exercise."  _

Sophie instantly gives up the jump rope, coming to a halt at his side, her shoulder leaning against the bar connecting the one he's doing pull ups on. "You love them," she repeats insistently. 

And she's not going to let it go. She has a limited amount of time to get whatever she wants out of him, so she'll be relentless--she's like a dog with a bone that way. He huffs and drops from the bar, scowling at her in open annoyance. 

"I--" He stops, not capable of saying whatever it is that's skittering in his brain. Eventually, he manages to grasp something that translates to, "I'd die for them." 

"Yes, I know." Sophie tilts her head. "You'd do anything for them." 

Eliot grunts again. "Yeah," he growls out. 

"You love them," Sophie says again, this time softer, her words pointed. 

It takes Eliot a moment to realize that she hasn't been trying to get him to admit that, or that she hasn't been asking him if it's true. No, she's _telling_ him that he loves them. Like maybe she still thinks they're all a little broken and need to be reminded of what they're capable of feeling. And he can't fault her that, because it's true. 

She's not trying to dig anything out of him. She's trying to give him something, trying to show him what she thinks he's missing. She wants to unearth something she believes he hasn't been looking for, something he hasn't thought to notice. She doesn't know that he's been doing his best to shove it down as far as possible because he knows,  _ oh how he knows,  _ she isn't lying. This isn't a teaching moment; she isn't telling him something he hasn't already been carrying around with him for years.

So, Eliot just looks at her and whispers, "Yeah," like it's the biggest secret he's ever told. 

"Oh, Eliot," Sophie murmurs, her eyes softening with something that looks a whole helluva lot like pity. 

Eliot can relate. 

* * *

Nate and Sophie leave when they'd promised to. It's bittersweet, just as before, but there's less of a gaping hole when they go this time. They've already left before, and those left behind had adjusted. It helps that they promise to visit again. 

Eliot knows he's supposed to be figuring things out, but he honestly has no idea where to start. Hardison and Parker don't act like anything monumentous has occurred, continuing on like they haven't thrown Eliot's world on its head. It's bullshit, and Eliot doesn't believe them for a second. 

It starts grating on his nerves. He'd expected a new change after the impromptu announcement, but there's nothing. They keep kissing him, keep taking him on dates, keep finding moments to touch him intimately--it's like they have no idea what this is doing to him. And it's not long before he snaps. 

It's with Parker. 

They've just finished a con and all riding the high of taking down another malicious crook who thought they were untouchable. They barely make it in the door before Parker is grabbing the first person following her inside--who just happens to be Eliot--and plants a kiss on them. It's heated and heavy, and Eliot's curling into it before he remembers why he should stop. 

Then, suddenly, he thinks he shouldn't have to stop this at all. If they're going to do this, if they're going to drag this out, he's going to handle it how he handles everything--brash and reckless. 

He wants to hurt them for daring to make him so fucking  _ weak,  _ even while he's always seconds from hitting his knees and begging them to never stop. 

But he can push back. This is what he does. He crosses lines, he ruins things, and he keeps going so far that when he looks back, he won't even be able to see where he started, or who he was when he did. And it terrifies him right down to his bones, in the way torture and nearly dying never could, in the way only they can manage. 

So, he gives in and breaks his own rules. With hands that shake, betraying his trepidation, he reaches out and skates his hand up Parker's sides. He kisses back in the way he never does, parting his lips and letting her in. He doesn't think about Hardison behind him, doesn't think about what could go wrong, doesn't do anything but throw himself into this as hastily as he would take a bullet for either of them. 

Parker arches into his hold, reaching up to play with his hair, lightly tugging the strands. She pulls away, but Eliot chases her lips, and she lets him come to her, giving him what he seeks. The kiss stretches on and on, hotter and more intense than ever before. She lets out a soft moan and scrapes her nails against his scalp, hopping up without preamble to wrap her legs around his waist like they belong there. 

She breaks away again to say, "Hardison, Eliot and I are going to have sex." 

Hardison scoots around them, heading towards his computer, calling out, "Okay, have fun. You know I'd join in, mama, but I gotta delete our traces from the last job." 

"Wait, wait," Eliot growls out, dropping his hands from beneath Parker's thighs where he'd instinctively caught her. She doesn't let go. "What? We're not-- Are you  _ serious?"  _

Parker blinks at him, frowning slightly. "Do you not want to have sex? I thought we were doing sex things."

"Foreplay," Hardison corrects distractedly. 

"Parker, we don't  _ have  _ sex," Eliot grits out, forcefully but gently pushing her legs from his waist. He ignores the twist of hurt around her mouth as she takes a step back. "This isn't--we're not…  _ Hardison  _ is your boyfriend!" 

"So are you," Parker replies instantly. 

Eliot growls in frustration. "No, I'm  _ not.  _ I'm--I don't know what I am, or what's going on, because no one has told me!" 

That, apparently, gets Hardison's attention. He stands up and walks over with his eyebrows furrowed in confusion. "What are you talking about, man?" 

"Have you both lost your damn minds?" Eliot flings his hands up, then hates how it seems like he's spazzing out. He crosses his arms. "You--you just started  _ kissing  _ me, and taking me on  _ dates,  _ and telling Nate and Sophie that we've been  _ dating!  _ I wasn't informed of any of those things, you know that, right? You can't just spring that on a person!" 

Parker stares at him. "But...you said--" 

"And that's not even includin' what the hell y'all are doing to  _ you,"  _ Eliot cuts in sharply. "You two are happy together and in love, and I'm not  _ in that.  _ I wasn't before and I ain't now." 

"Well, you kinda  _ were,"  _ Hardison corrects, "but--" 

Eliot cuts him off, on a roll now, full on ranting, his voice rising to a shout. "And now,  _ what?  _ We're just gonna have sex? No!  _ No.  _ Y'all don't get to do this to me; I ain't gonna put up with it. You had your fun, but I'm not--I can't just--" 

And he stops because he realizes what he's just done. As easy as that, he's called it quits in a fit of anger. Sure, it's been a little hard, but he doesn't want to lose this--whatever  _ this  _ is. But, true to form, he ruins it before he can stop himself. 

"Eliot," Parker says very carefully, "I think I'm a bad mastermind." 

"No, girl, you're not," Hardison reassures her instantly, reaching out to take her hand. "It's just a misunderstanding, that's all." 

_ "What's  _ a misunderstanding?" Eliot barks harshly. 

"You said  _ til my dyin' day,  _ which means you'll be with us until you die," she says bluntly. 

Eliot swallows thickly. "Yeah," he says shortly, flicking his gaze between them. "That can't really be misinterpreted, Parker." 

"You made a promise," Parker says slowly, reaching out to press her fingers to his chest. "You don't break those." 

"Well, I've broken a few." 

"Not when it comes to us." 

Hardison hums. "Yeah, girl's got you there, man." 

"What's your  _ point?"  _ Eliot growls. 

Rushing, like it's a race she has to win, Parker blurts out, "You also said you don't need to search anymore. That means you found what you needed in life. That  _ is  _ what that means, right?" 

_ "Yes,  _ that's what that means," Eliot tells her, rolling his eyes when Parker gives a self-satisfied nod. 

"And you looked at us." 

"I did." 

"So, you said that you want to be with us until you die," Parker translates, like that makes sense. 

Eliot rears back. "Woah, hold on, I did  _ not  _ say that!" 

"You kinda did," Hardison says. "Just, you talked around it, like you do. But we got what you were laying down." 

"I wasn't laying anything down," Eliot says firmly, because he most definitely wasn't. 

Parker abruptly puts both hands on either side of his face and leans forward far enough to bring herself nose-to-nose with Eliot. He goes tense immediately, but doesn't pull away, just blinks and stares into her eyes. He's not really sure what she's doing, whether this is her starting a staring contest or trying a new grifter tactic--with Parker, you can never tell. But he's willing to wait it out until the other shoe drops, even if his skin pricks at the proximity and he has to go over all the possible exits in his mind to feel comfortable. 

Hardison clears his throat and, for one terrifying moment, Eliot thinks he's offended him by not pulling away, though they both know how relentless Parker is when she wants to be. He needn't have worried, he finds out a moment later. 

"You're freaking him out, mama. Just do what you're gonna do," Hardison says. 

The fact that Hardison had cleared his throat to check Parker and make sure she didn't prolong his current suffering nearly makes Eliot's mind go blank. 

"Hardison says that your love language is different from regular people, but that's okay; mine is too. But we've been thinking…" Parker leans in even  _ more,  _ so close that they share the same breath. "You don't say you want us, but you do say it. We just haven't been listening the right way, that's all." 

And that's enough of that. Eliot jerks back, nearly stumbling as his heart starts rioting in his chest. He doesn't know why he's mildly panicking; he'd always known, somewhere deep, that they'd figure it out at some point. It still freaks him out, though. 

"Eliot," Hardison says quickly, flapping a hand rapidly like he's batting away whatever problems are in his head, "it's okay, man. We could've been wrong." 

"I--you weren't." Eliot nearly chokes on the truth, the words punching out of him. "You aren't."

Parker shoves both hands in the air and does a little wiggle. "Aha! You  _ do  _ love us in your Eliot way! You just said it." 

"Yeah, that's what I heard too," Hardison tells her, smiling wide in victory.

Eliot, despite their joy, feels like a caged animal. He starts stepping back, heart in his throat at their triumph, and it all quickly turns to anger. "Fine, you got your freakin' answers. I love you both. That's what you wanted to hear? Happy now?" 

Their celebrations die down immediately, but Eliot refuses to look at their expressions of dismay. He can't pander to their guilt right now. All he wants at the moment is  _ out, away, run.  _

So, as Hardison softly tells Parker not to follow, he turns and leaves. 

* * *

Eliot, of course, doesn't stay gone for very long. Just a couple of days that he spends finding people to punch; those who deserve it, obviously. 

They don't bother him while he's gone, a fact he appreciates. If they'd have called, he would've answered, regardless of his own feelings. If they'd have asked him to come back, he would have, no matter how much he would've wanted to stay away. But they don't; they let him come back in his own time, when he's comfortable. 

He loves them a little more for that. 

Eliot comes back when he knows it's the optimal time for at least one of them to be missing. He's right, as he usually is, and it's just Hardison waiting when he heads inside. To his credit, Hardison at least lets him get in the door before he comes over. 

"We're sorry," Hardison says by a way of greeting, his lips tipped down in one of his tells of guilt. 

Eliot nods. "I know." 

"Can I ask you something?" Hardison murmurs, his hands shoved into his jacket pockets. 

"If you don't, Parker will. I'll have to answer eventually," Eliot replies wearily. 

Hardison clicks his tongue. "Nah, man. You don't have to say jack. You wanna drop it, never talk about it again? We will. That's your call." 

"Just ask your damn questions, Hardison," Eliot growls out, scowling as he heads towards the kitchen. He has plans for dinner, plus he's ninety-five percent sure he'll need to keep his hands busy to be able to get through this.

"We obviously got it wrong. We--I dunno, I guess we thought that talking about it in-depth would just make you uncomfortable," Hardison admits with a grimace. "But, man, why did you wait so long to say something?" 

"It's not like it was torture," Eliot mutters as he opens the fridge and starts pulling out different ingredients. 

Hardison tsks quietly. "Dude, going that long being  _ that  _ confused can't be fun. Shit, I can't be confused for five seconds before I'm ready to bust." 

Eliot considers the best way to respond to that as he arranges dinner with his hands. He can be honest, much as that feels like a bad idea. But the worst of it is over; they already know how he feels, and they haven't ostracized him for it yet. He probably can't do anymore damage than he already has. 

Eliot adverts his gaze as he mutters, "I wasn't gonna run the risk of...makin' waves. If it was gonna stop, I didn't want it to be because I needed confirmation." 

"Jesus, Eliot," Hardison hisses, eyebrows drawing together as he leans forward and rubs a hand over his mouth. "You know, for a tough guy, you're so fucking  _ soft  _ sometimes." 

"Shut up," Eliot warns with a scowl. 

Hardison snorts. "You stopped scaring me a long time ago, babe. Good try, though." 

Eliot absolutely  _ despises  _ the way his heart thumps unevenly at the casual way Hardison calls him  _ babe.  _ That's just...not fair. 

"Whatever," Eliot grunts, focusing his attention back on the chicken. "Anything else, or you done?" 

There's a pause, then Hardison asks, "Will you move in with us?" 

Eliot looks up at him, blinking slow. Hardison waits, his hands fiddling with each other nervously, bottom lip caught between his teeth. Eliot already knows what he's going to say before he even replies, despite the caution he's pretty sure he should be taking. There's not much he would say no to if they ask. 

"Yeah," Eliot mutters. 

Hardison instantly grins. "Yes! Okay, that's good. Parker's going to be  _ thrilled.  _ We don't like it when you're not here. It's like an incomplete triangle, ya know? Which...that's pretty on the nose." 

"Hardison," Eliot says sharply, "I need--I'm gonna need you to tell me what's happening." 

"Oh." Hardison blinks. "Right, shit, sorry. I think--I guess me and Parker just...get excited. You were always more level-headed than us. Right. We want it all; you know, the whole shebang. Dating, being in love, living together, etcetera. Me and Parker? We're good, great even, but with you...we're just better. And you may not admit it, but you're better with us too. We're all just better together." 

Eliot processes that, then nods. "Okay." 

* * *

It becomes apparent, after some time, that Eliot has some very distinctive needs. Hardison and Parker--the most important on that list--never fail to fulfill those needs. 

Eliot doesn't necessarily  _ agree  _ with this list, especially when he realizes they actually have it memorized, but he doesn't fight it too hard. To be fair, it's a pretty damn good list. 

One, Eliot needs to be reminded that this is actually a thing sometimes. It's embarrassing, he knows that, but there's always a slight surrealness to the entire thing that breeds uncertainty, no matter how natural it all feels--and honestly, Eliot doesn't trust easily, especially not the good things in life. So, every now and again, they find ways to casually confirm that yes, they're all in love and a legitimate triad, not complete without him. 

Two, Eliot needs some space occasionally. He does move in with them, and he feels uncomfortable asking for a separate room, right up until he realizes that Parker has one too. They all mostly sleep in the same overly large bed in Hardison's room, but sometimes he needs to spend time away. They don't judge him and Parker, especially, understands. 

Three, Eliot needs warning before sex. This rule seems worse than it is. He only needs to know because sex with Hardison and Parker is  _ very  _ exhausting; so,  _ so  _ good, but tiring as all hell. So, he cooks up some snacks in advance, because if those two are going to be ringing three orgasms out of him in the course of two hours, he needs to provide his body some extra energy. 

Four, and lastly, Eliot needs  _ them.  _ That needs no explanation; it's exactly as it says on the tin.

It's a rather short list, but it does wonders for their relationship. Things almost seem  _ too  _ perfect, because in Eliot's experience, nothing can be this good. Refer to rule number one. 

Of course, they're all still them, and Eliot's still hopelessly in love with them, completely at their mercy. His heart seems lighter though, as if it's pleased he's finally given in and realized that it has belonged to them for a long time anyway. It wasn't stolen from him; he'd given it willingly. But it  _ is  _ his, and it's the first thing of his that he's never felt the urge to steal back. 

He doesn't think he'd do right by his heart anymore anyway; the bar is far too high, and he'd never handled it with care before. Parker and Hardison treat it like its their most prized possession. 

Eliot has no doubts they'll keep it until it stops beating. It's theirs until his dying day. 

He doesn't think of retirement in terms of death anymore. Reckless as it may be, he allows himself to think of his dream, to hope for that. He has no idea if he'll ever retire, or if he'll make it that far, but if he does...he thinks it'll be just like that dream where he's with everything he loves--cooking, Parker, and Hardison. Maybe, one day, it'll be reality. 

But if it isn't, he won't complain. His reality is perfect as is, as long as he has them. 

**Author's Note:**

> This was my first Leverage Fic, but I just HAD to write the ot3. I love them an unhealthy amount, honestly to be honest. And I know the show has been off for a number of years, so the fandom is probably small, but I still felt the need to write these three fools in love. 
> 
> I really hope you enjoyed it! 
> 
> Thank you so much for reading! Don't hesitate to drop off some kudos and please leave a comment; I do so appreciate them. 
> 
> Ta!
> 
> -SOBS


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